


Welcome Back- A Tribute to Cynthia Lennon

by no_need_to_be_alone



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Afterlife, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:13:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3700493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_need_to_be_alone/pseuds/no_need_to_be_alone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick story I wrote in honor of the irreplaceable Cynthia Powell-Lennon-Charles</p><p>Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and I can't speak for any of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Back- A Tribute to Cynthia Lennon

“Cyn! Snap out of it!”

Cynthia blinked rapidly.

“Sorry, Maureen. Just drifted off a bit.”

“Hey, leave the dreaming to me! I still have a drop of youth in me.”

Cynthia laughed as Maureen linked arms with her.

“Yes, I’m old. You don’t need to remind me every day, though. You gonna go to Richie’s?”

“No,” she sighed. “He’s still not here. Can I tag along with you to John’s?”

“Course you can. I forgot my glasses, so I need a guide anyway.”

The two women talked and laughed as they made their way through the streets of Liverpool. It seemed like ages since they had seen each other, even though it couldn’t have been more than a few days.

As they approached John and Mimi’s house on Menlove Avenue, George spotted them through a window and waved, grinning.

“Afternoon, ladies!”

He disappeared from the window, only to open the front door for them. He gave the women friendly kisses on their cheeks, making both of them giggle.

"John's upstairs, Cyn."

"Where are the other two?"

"Lazy sods," George muttered, rolling his eyes. "They'll get here when they get here, I suppose."

"I'll take my leave then," Mo said, giving Cynthia a quick hug. "See you around."

"What's all this ruckus about?" A familiar voice boomed. "Are there ruffians in my lobby?"

A tall figure, still wearing his white dress shirt, appeared at the top of the stairs. He sneered at George.

"Ah. That explains it."

As he descended the stairs, he gave George a punch on the arm, eyes shining when he laid eyes on Cynthia.

"There she is. The belle of the ball. Welcome Back."

Cynthia grinned, throwing her arms around John's neck, kissing him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and smiled as he kissed her.

He pulled away, planting kisses on her forehead gently as his arms pulled her closer.

"How you doin', babe?"

"Good. How was the show?"

"Meh, same as always. How was your day?"

She rested her head on his chest, thinking.

"I... I can't remember."

"Hey, c'mon. You don't have amnesia, do you? What happened before you got here?"

"Well... I was with Jul-" she froze. John's arms tightened their hold on her.

"I died. I'm dead."

John and George sighed. She felt George place a hand on her arm, and another kiss was placed on her head.

"I'm sorry, love. Was it peaceful?"

 

_She was in her bed, her son at her side, holding into her hand with a sad smile on his face. She was too weak to do or say much, but was still happy, even now._

_"I love you, Mum. I'll be okay. Don't you worry. I love you..."_

 

She nodded silently into John's chest. She heard him whisper 'Oh, Julian' softly, and she felt tears forming in her eyes.

The three of them formed a group hug, John letting George in to hold Cynthia as well. She cried in silence as the two of them comforted her, a limitless supply of tissues, and shirts that were never damp with tea 

"C'mon," John said soothingly, pushing her out the door with a strong, reassuring hand on her back. "We'll go for a walk."

Cynthia said nothing as she walked alongside John and George through the old Liverpool. George held her hand while John tucked her small frame under his arm. They passed by a shop window, and she had to look twice at the reflection. Even though the newly cut moptops were synonymous with the two of them, it was strange to see John without glasses, and George was just so... _young._

"Everything changes depending on your thoughts," George said, somehow reading her thoughts. "Usually I’d never look like this, but we're following your lead, since... Y'know..."

"Smooth, Maha Harrison."

Curious, Cynthia mentally scrolled through the years, watching as herself and the other two changed appearances and clothes fluidly. Hair and beards grew longer and shorter, and a shiver went down her spine when John had reached 1980. Tentatively, she thought about the nineties. John's hair grew longer and streaked with grey, and more wrinkles formed on his face. George had the long salt-and-pepper hair he'd sported in the last few years of his life.

As her mind crept closer towards her time of death, she watched them take the form of the men they never had the chance to be. George remained relatively similar, but John was a flurry of clothing and hair styles. From straight and short to long and curly, and everything in between. He had the same hair color, jowls, and fashion style as Paul, and she wondered what their relationship would have been like had he lived.

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“Nowhere, really. Just passing the time until you get a hold of yourself. Distance and the rules of the universe don’t apply here.”

“Where is here?”

“I’ll leave that to George for another time. The best I could explain it is if you could control your dreams forever, this is that.”

“What do we do?”

“Whatever you want. I personally get a kick out of haunting people, particularly a certain southpaw bassist. Not taking names.”

They had somehow transitioned to a warm, sandy beach, with a small villa in the distance. As they walked towards the houses, Cynthia realized it reminded her of her home in Spain. The three of them were young again, around 1967, by the looks of John’s curly hair and glasses.

“How come no one recognizes you two?” She asked, watching people mill about like they didn’t have a care in the world.

“That’s a great perk to being dead, luv. In a crowd of literally billions, even Beatlemania is relatively minor. Besides, most of our fans are still alive.”

They had reached a building that resembled English houses, all squashed together, wall to wall. George let go of her hand and John gestured to a set of stairs leading to a maroon door.

“Go on,” he said.

“What do you want me to do?”

“What else do you do at a door, Cyn? You bloody knock.”

Confused, she ascended the stairs, and rapped on the door a few times with the brass knocker. After a moment’s pause, the door creaked open. Behind was a tall black man, clad in a pinstriped dress shirt and jeans. He beamed.

“Hello, Darling.”

Cynthia blinked.

“N-Noel?”

“Welcome Back.”

She reached a hand out to touch him, stroking a cheek softly. She had never seen him so young in person, but it was undoubtedly the same person. She found herself wrapped in a warm embrace, a hand stroking her hair softly. A tear slipped down her face and landed on her husband’s shirt.

A slight tug on her sleeve brought her back into the real world, if one could call it that.

“Uh, Cyn? Methinks it’s time for me and Geo to head off.”

She turned around to face him fully.

“Will I see you again?”

He took both her hands in his, squeezing them reassuringly. A familiar, confident grin graced his lips.

“Course you will. Anytime you want. Just call me up, and I’ll be there. We can check up on Julian if you want.”

“He’s going to be 52 in a week, John. I think he can take care of himself.”

“52? Christ, I just thought my math was bad. Either way, he’s still our son.”

“He’s bloomed into quite the photographer and philanthropist.”

“He’s artistic and kind. Gets that from you, y’know.”

“I still love you, John,” she blurted out. She’d suddenly realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d said it out loud to him.

John cupped her face in his hands and gave her a chaste kiss.

“I love you too, Cynthia. Always have. But you belong with Noel. He’s a right ol’ chap. Came to see me after he passed on. Hate to say it, but he loves you as much as I do."

He stepped forward to shake Noel's hand, smiling warmly.

"Take good care of her, Charles. Make sure she eats her veggies, or you'll hear from me."

"It'll be much easier to do thy now that my back is a straight line again."

George stepped forward to hug her as her current and ex husband exchanged a few words.

"Welcome Back," he said, kissing her cheek.

"What does that mean?"

"It's halfway between 'my condolences' and 'I'm happy to see you again'."

"So you didn't get reincarnated, then?"

"Technically, I did, but I'll explain another day."

She gave John another hug and a kiss before taking Noel's hand, and stepping through the door.

As she entered the house, she realized it was their home in Barbados. Where she had lived and died happy.

But now she was with Noel again, reunited with John, George, and down the line, so many others.

One day, hopefully far in the future, she would see her son again, and ask him how his life has been.

But for now, she was content holding hands with her loving husband as if they hadn't spent a day apart. Funnily enough, even though she had spent a lot of effort fretting over getting everything in order before she passed, it seemed to be a lot more relaxing now that she was dead.

Almost like she'd been gone from home for a long time, and she was finally back.


End file.
